Exception to the Rule
by Always a Bookworm
Summary: Marik always assumed that his return from the darkness would be easy. Humans were so predicatable, after all. But apparently Ryuuji Otogi is an exception to the rule. Bondageshipping, for contest.


Hello again! Here I am with the entry for Round 12 of the YGO Fanfiction Contest, and it's the lovely and delicious pairing is **Bondageshipping (Yami no Malik x Ryuuji Otogi), **which I had a lot of fun writing! xD Admittedly I seriously messed up on my time management, resulting in me rushing the most important scene to get it in hours before the deadline, but hey ho. Life goes on.

I hope you enjoy this, because it's not what I normally write. For a start it's actually canon!Marik. :O Probably a first for me!

Pairing(s): Bondageshipping

Warnings: Canon setting, some angst, light horror, mentions of sex, little recognisable plot and too many commas.

Important ANs are at the end of the fic, but for now: Enjoy! :)

* * *

**Exception to the Rule**

It had been three years.

_Three years._

He shouldn't still be alive- not by any law or rule or logic that his brief time in the human world had taught him- but then, he had never really been alive anyway.

His definition of 'alive' was this false existence in the eternal darkness, surrounded by nothing, living in dreams and the brief snatches of the real world that they brought.

He didn't know where he was, he didn't know _who_ he was, but he did feel time ticking by. And he knew that eventually, humanity being humanity, he would be released by someone just as hate-filled, just as ambitious, just as _angry_ as Malik had once been.

It was just a matter of time; and despite the Pharaoh's assumption, he was a patient creature.

He would wait.

Just as long as it took.

The Shadows could never destroy him completely, anyway. He had been created from them; he could manipulate them still, just enough to keep some part of his fragmented mind awake and alive.

It wasn't until three years after he had been buried away that his opportunity came at last.

There was a muffled voice speaking. At first he struggled to make out the words, he hadn't heard anything except crushing silence in so long…

"_I just wish there was a way, for once, for him to see what I'm trying to do, how much he's hurting me by stopping this! Sometimes… sometimes I really hate him, sometimes I just want to make him hurt."_

His wait had paid off.

This was the person who was going to pull him back.

It was an effort, but he managed to connect the disjointed corners of his memory just long enough to identify the voice:

_Ryuuji Otogi_.

Marik, for the first time in three years, stirred and smiled.

* * *

Otogi was not a stupid child; he had never been a stupid child. A 'brilliant' one his teachers had gushed, a 'genius' his childhood playmates had whispered in awe while he smirked and fained modesty, and his mother had smiled and tried not to cry.

It had never really been about his brains, of course, although he genuinely was a very intelligent boy. Ryuuji had discovered, at perhaps an unfairly early age, that if he smiled the right way, tilted his head just so, tossed his hair in that way, and sent his adversary a flash of his eyes, he could get _whatever he wanted_.

People loved him, it was a given. When he was a child he was 'adorable'; as a teenager he was 'gorgeous'.

Ryuuji had learned by the age of ten, when his mother finally gave in to her weak health and died peacefully in her sleep, and when his father suddenly became a complete stranger to him, that life wasn't fair and you had to use what you had to get ahead.

Because no one was going to help you along the way.

Yuugi had been the exception to the rule.

Ryuuji had really, _really_ wanted to hate the other boy. He'd taken away the one adult he still looked up to, the idol that not even his father could deprive him of. And Yuugi wasn't just a good duelist, he was the best. Ryuuji wasn't used to being outshone.

But Yuugi, being Yuugi, had made himself very difficult to hate. Without realising it he too had discovered Ryuuji's trick of captivating others, but in a completely different way.

He was sweet, and friendly, and _trusting_, and everything Ryuuji wanted to be. So, reluctantly at first, Ryuuji had been drawn into his circle of friends, and here he was three years later wondering where the hell they were all now.

Pacing the length of his room, Ryuuji was trying desperately to get his thoughts under control. He was furious, yes, but destroying various items of extreme value would not help matters. (Despite telling himself this he still longed to throw the antique vase in the corner of his room through the window. It _might_ help somewhat...)

The servants that worked at the mansion had, wisely, avoided Ryuuji's suite of rooms for the past two hours- he might have been the most charismatic teenager they had ever met, but the boy's temper was renowned.

_Sulky brat_, some muttered under their breath as they listened furtively to the occasional thumps and crashes that indicated he had thrown something else on the floor. _Just because his father's come back, I would have thought it a reason to celebrate_!

But as Ryuuji lay on his bed breathing heavily, dreading the moment when his father would sweep through the doors once again- he'd been abroad, why couldn't he have stayed abroad, neither of them had any wish to see each other again!- he couldn't help the tears of fury that left thick black smudges under his eyes.

Ryuuji was well aware of many things; his looks, his 'brilliance' and the fact that most people he cared about eventually left or learned to despise him.

But he never thought he would curse himself as 'stupid'.

Rolling over onto his side he stared, dully, through the window; edged in a surprisingly tasteful dark blue curtain- most of Ryuuji's room matched his flashy and glamorous personality- it was one of the few windows in their house that was ever opened, instead of latched and locked shut.

(When Ryuuji had been a child, he had liked to think the window was there if he ever needed to escape, like those children in the stories. Now he just pretended that he left it open by accident.)

His father… Father. Ryuuji rolled the word around in his mind- it didn't _fit_. He didn't have a father- his 'father' had only ever wanted to use him to gain his revenge. He'd never been the same after Mother's funeral, anyway.

Ryuuji groaned and screwed up his eyes, curling up on the bed and pressing his palms to his ears as if to block out the world. A small part of his brilliant brain laughed and reminded him he hadn't done this since he was a child. The rest of his brain dismissed this and focussed on the absolute _fiasco_ that was his father coming home.

Because Ryuuji knew exactly what his father would do as soon as he returned; that sharp voice from his childhood still echoed in his ears:

"_Dice? What use have dice got- if you were any use you would play with cards! Stupid child, stupid boy- how is someone like __you__ supposed to exact my revenge?"_

He won't exactly be overjoyed about Dungeon Dice, Ryuuji thought bitterly. He'll be furious. He'll try and shut it down.

He'll try and take it away from me, just because he knows I want it more than anything.

Without really thinking, Ryuuji murmured aloud to himself (just as he had done as a child wishing on a star, or a birthday candle, or a particularly lucky dice throw). "I just wish there was a way, for once, for him to see what I'm trying to do, how much he's hurting me by stopping this! Sometimes… sometimes I really hate him, sometimes I just want to make him hurt."

His eyes screwed uptight, he didn't see the shadows in the corner of his bedroom shift very slightly, and even with his eyes open he couldn't have seen the vengeful, gleaming smile that hovered there for that one second.

* * *

It started at night.

(Not the night after Ryuuji made his fatal, horrific wish. Marik wasn't strong enough for something like that.)

But slowly, achingly slowly, Marik began to bleed through the barrier separating his reality to Ryuuji's world.

At first it was just split second glimpses of Ryuuji's room, and occasionally of his sleeping body; Marik learned to cherish each tiny second that he had in that world. Sometimes Ryuuji was not alone, and Marik would watch with amusement, vaguely wondering how someone clearly so confident would ever achieve the level of hatred and ambition that was needed to bring him back.

Sometimes Ryuuji lay awake into the small hours of the morning, and Marik would snatch a glance of those piercing green eyes.

Marik would sometimes laugh to himself- his chuckle only a weak rumble in his chest from years of disuse- and compare that sharp, poisonous, _tempting_ green with his old host's innocent, wounded violet.

After a while he succeeded in slipping through the shadows for longer; often watching Ryuuji from the darkest corner of his room right through until the sunlight stained the bedcovers red. Watched him sleeping, screwing, crying, hating. Watched him until Marik knew every little aspect of his personality, watched him until he knew he would have control in the game he would initiate. Soon, so soon.

For now, Marik was happy to wait.

* * *

Ryuuji woke up- or at least he thought he woke up- in a setting that was eerily familiar. Taking a few cautious steps he stared around him and identified, with growing disbelief, what appeared to be the inside of a massive stadium. Was it some kind of sports field?

It was completely deserted and the stands were unlit, and when Ryuuji scuffed his foot against the ground a cloud of dust whirled up, just as if the wind had blown it into clouds.

_But there was no wind_. A part of Ryuuji's mind, a part that wasn't desperately trying to place this scene in his memory, pointed this out. With uncharacteristic fear Ryuuji raised his head to look at the sky.

Pitch black-it was night. But there was something wrong.

Dread slowly filling the pit of his stomach, Ryuuji realised what it was. No stars.

Just as he came to this terrifying realisation the stands were suddenly flooded with bright, artificial light. Blinking, he couldn't immediately see the figure leaning on the rail on the first level, but he heard with terrible clarity the sardonic tone:

"Well, well. Didn't expect to see you here."

Ryuuji, rooted to the spot with a mixture of fear and curiosity, could only watch as his eyes adjusted and the figure became visible; a tanned male with a shock of blond hair, a billowing purple cloak, and eyes that were pure black…

"Marik?" Ryuuji croaked, utterly dazed.

Marik cracked a smirk, before leaping with animalistic agility over the rail and onto the sand only a few feet away from Ryuuji. "Of course, I did expect you here, really," he continued, almost conversationally. "I brought you here after all."

Ryuuji, now more confused than terrified, said: "Where? What… How are we…?"

Marik tutted and leant back against the railing. "Honestly, Otogi, I thought you were supposed to be intelligent."

"Don't call me that," Ryuuji interrupted automatically. Flushing slightly at Marik's raised eyebrow. "It's Ryuuji. Not Otogi."

Marik tilted his head, and Ryuuji was suddenly struck by the depths of those black eyes. "Of course, because that's your _father's_ name, isn't it?"

At Ryuuji's sudden start Marik cackled, and the sound echoed around the stadium. "You two don't really get along, do you?"

Ryuuji felt a rush of anger and balled up his fists. "You haven't answered my question."

"Oh, don't be embarrassed," Marik replied idly. "You could say I specialise in daddy troubles."

This mocking reminder of Malik (his friend, the friend of Yuugi's, _Yuugi who had destroyed this monster_) only succeeded in further angering Ryuuji, but before he could act Marik cut in with a smirk.

"I suppose I should tell you, really. It's fun to keep you in suspense for a while, but… I get bored easily, you see," he added, twisting a strand of hair round his finger curiously, shocking Ryuuji with this imitation of his own movement. "This is a dream. That doesn't make it any less real, of course, but it was the only way I can communicate with you- I'm still weak from… Well, you know what happened. It was your little _friend_," he spat out the word, and Ryuuji was reminded suddenly of the monster they had faced all those years ago. "That did it to me."

Ryuuji shrugged and folded his arms to stop them from shaking with nerves. Keep him talking, keep him talking until you figure a way out of this… "Yuugi had good reason to destroy you, if you remember. But he _did_ destroy you- how are you even vaguely alive, especially if you never really existed in the first place?"

Marik waved him off with a dismissive hand. "Does it really matter? I suppose by the end of it I was strong enough and tied to the Shadows enough that I could never really be destroyed… They should have realised that. They will pay for their carelessness," Marik's voice had trailed off into a thoughtful murmur, until he suddenly regained his wicked grin and opened his arms out wide.

"So doesn't all this talk of Battle City give you a clue as to my setting? I really worked on every last detail," he gestured at Ryuuji, and on looking down at himself he realised he was wearing that red waistcoat and those black jeans he had loved when he was 15…

"This is Kaiba's stadium!" Ryuuji burst out, with wide eyes. "This is where the blimp took off, this is where we-"

"Where we first met," Marik finished, a sarcastic edge to his voice. "I thought it was fitting."

Ryuuji shook his head and shot Marik a smirk of his own. "Well, I have to say I'm impressed by your attention to detail. But as pleased as I am to fit into these jeans again- no, I didn't gain weight, they shrank in the wash- none of this is answering my question." He took a step closer to Marik, and suddenly his eyes weren't seductive or beautiful, they were merely that sharp, cold green that Marik had glimpsed only a few times before. "Why am I here?"

Marik stared at him levelly, inwardly impressed at how well the boy was holding his ground. "Because I need you, Ryuuji Otogi. You're just the person I need to help me return."

Ryuuji narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to speak, but Marik merely placed his hand on his chest with a grin and pushed him back slightly, whispering: "We can talk about it next time. Wake, my dear Ryuuji."

* * *

Ryuuji awoke to the sun streaming through the windows and his hands curled into fists around the sweat-soaked sheets. He took a deep breath to steady his hammering heart, and told himself: Just a dream. That's all it was. A dream. A crazy, sleep-deprivation induced dream.

Ryuuji tried not to think about how the memory of the purring voice was as fresh in his mind as if it had been real.

* * *

The next time they met it was the same scene, the same details, the same smirk burning itself onto Ryuuji's memory.

"I thought you would be more prepared this time," Ryuuji heard the sarcastic laugh. "I told you there would be a 'next time'."

Ryuuji ignored him and tried to compose his racing thoughts. "So, unless this is a particularly bad recurring nightmare… this is real?" he asked, slowly.

Marik nodded with a frown. "I thought we'd already covered that. Honestly, Ryuuji, I hope you're not always going to be this slow. At least my last host caught on pretty fast."

Ryuuji's eyes glinted and he replied in a snide tone, "Your last host? Didn't work out too well in the end, did it now?"

Marik's scowl deepened, and Ryuuji felt a sort of bitter pleasure at the knowledge that this monster wasn't the only one in control. He had some ammunition of his own, after all. "Malik Ishtar… Never expected him to turn on you, did you? Honestly, _Marik,"_ he continued, imitating Marik's words. "I thought you were supposed to be intelligent."

Much to Ryuuji's surprise, Marik only responded to this with a dark chuckle. "I'm so glad I chose you, you know. You have this vicious streak, you have untouched evil in your soul." Marik took a step closer to Ryuuji, who refused to back down and continued to stare at him hard in the face. "I can bring it out in you, my dear. We're going to have _so much fun_," he whispered these last words into Ryuuji's ear, but still he didn't flinch or jerk away.

Instead he tilted his head and smirked. "You're different," he said, decidedly. Enjoying the confusion that suddenly flashed across Marik's face he continued on. "You're not the same as you were in Battle City. You're less… psychopathic," he finished thoughtfully.

Marik smirked. "I was wondering when you were going to figure that out. Haven't you noticed it yet, Ryuuji? The way I've adopted your tiny movements, the inflections in your voice, your method of charm? Haven't you wondered at the way I know your character inside out?"

Ryuuji arched a single eyebrow and replied smoothly: "Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery."

"And your vanity will be your downfall," Marik grinned. "You were correct in your assumption that I was never alive; I'm a parasite, Ryuuji. I feed off of other people- specifically off their hatred and their ambition."

Ryuuji, for the first time in their meeting, suddenly felt truly scared. "What... What do you mean?"

"Not so confident now?" Marik returned. "It means that I plan to take over your body and use it to exact my revenge. I just need to regain my strength... And to become accustomed to your mind, of course. You know, this would be so much easier if you just co-operated with me."

Ryuuji shook his head in disbelief. "There is no way I'm just handing over my body to you!" he spat out, green eyes blazing.

Marik shrugged. "No matter. I will win in the end, Ryuuji. I always win."

* * *

Before Ryuuji could respond (although he didn't know what he would have done; shouted, screamed, maybe hit him?) he jerked awake in his own bed. He clutched at the sheets and concentrated on breathing _in and out, in and out_...

After what felt like hours of simply lying there and despairing over the situation, hating himself for not fighting back, knowing that in the end it would all be useless, Ryuuji's eyes snapped open and he forced himself out of the comforting warmth of his bed and over to the desk where he kept all of his detailed notes and files on Dungeon Dice Monsters. His father had tried to stop production, and had nearly succeeded too, but Ryuuji felt a swell of pride as he looked at the designs and remembered how retailers had come back to him and insisted that sales were too popular, it would be insane to withdraw the product when it was doing so well. Ryuuji still revelled in his father's look of shock as he realised what his son had done.

If he could do that, if he could beat his father, then Marik was a fool to think he would go down without a fight.

Fingering the two dice that lay on the desktop gently, Ryuuji smiled.

* * *

Not a stranger to pulling all-nighters, Ryuuji steadfastly refused to sleep that night. He told himself that it wasn't because he was scared, but because he needed more time to prepare himself for what he was sure would be one of the most difficult struggles of his life.

He tried to ignore the shaky feeling in his stomach whenever he thought of those shadow-black eyes.

As he was working at his laptop in the semi-darkness at some early hour of the morning, he could have sworn that there was something watching him. He ignored it; he knew that would irritate him.

Marik would probably have inherited my need for attention, Ryuuji thought gleefully. At least that's something I have control over- if he is really becoming me, then he'll have my weaknesses.

* * *

The third time Ryuuji found himself in the deserted stadium, the sky void of stars, and the familiar cackle echoing around the stands, he was prepared.

"Marik!" he called out in his most authoritative tone.

Marik leapt down onto the sand next to him, his characteristic smirk still in place. "You seem much more confident than the last time, my dear. Perhaps you've decided to work with me instead of against me?"

Ryuuji fixed his mouth into a thin line. "Not exactly. But I have come to make you a deal."

"A deal?" Marik's grin widened. "And what is this 'deal'?"

Ryuuji held his cool gaze for just a long enough time that he knew Marik would be slightly unnerved. "I'll play a game with you, Marik. A game for my body- if I win, you return to wherever you came from and you never bother me or my friends again. If you win, you get this body and you can do whatever you want with me."

Finishing with his most classic move- the hint of a smirk combined with a slight widening of his eyes just to accentuate their colour- Ryuuji felt an inward rush of triumph as he realised that Marik's face was blank. It would appear that even monsters created from hatred weren't completely immune to his particular brand of charm.

"What's the game?" Marik asked, guardedly. Ryuuji caught a flash of wariness in his eyes and smirked.

"A simple one, Marik. Just a roll of the die. If you get a higher number, you win and vice versa. Simple."

"Painfully simple," Marik agreed quietly.

"Well?" Ryuuji held out his hand, raising his chin to meet Marik's gaze. He would not back down.

"Deal," Marik finally said, grabbing Ryuuji's hand with more force than was necessary. Ryuuji bit back a gasp at the contact; it was the first time he had touched Marik and the hand in his felt warm. It felt solid. It felt normal. It felt _human_.

(His resolve to carry this game out wavered, but held fast. _He would not back down._)

"Swear it," he said, still gripping Marik's hand. "Swear to abide by the rules of the game. Swear it on the shadows."

Marik sighed. "Don't you trust me?" he asked in a bored tone. "Fine. I swear."

The darkness around them shifted slightly and Ryuuji felt a chill run through his bones; Marik laughed and said, "Beware, child. They will keep you to your word."

With a steady hand Ryuuji reached for the dice in his pocket when Marik held up his hand with a grin. "I will provide the dice- do you really think I'm _that_ stupid?"

Ryuuji twisted the leather bracelet on his arm and smiled. "I don't think you're stupid at all. Never did. Don't underestimate your opponent, that's what I always say."

Marik didn't seem to have a response to that, although his eyes flashed in amusement, and with a frown he held out his hand and muttered a few words. The air shimmered and then two dice fell straight into his palm.

"How… how did you do that?" Ryuuji asked, slightly shocked.

"Simple mind control- I'm controlling this dream, I control what happens in the dream. Easy. Of course," he smirked. "That makes me so much harder to beat."

Ryuuji's smile did not falter. "I'll take my chances."

Without another word Marik curled his fist around the dice and then threw. They span for a few seconds before falling down into the dust.

_Five and five_.

Marik laughed. "A ten! Have fun beating that, Ryuuji. Even a Dice Master like you would never take on such foolish odds… But don't think I'm letting you back out of this one! You've dug your own grave, my friend!"

Ryuuji stared at Marik's face, suddenly lit up with a madness that he remembered only too well from Battle City. "Perhaps."

Holding the dice up to his lips he closed his eyes and cupped them there for a second, before rolling them across the ground.

They came to rest at Marik's feet.

_Six and six_.

Ryuuji straightened up and met Marik's furious shock with a cold smile. "Perhaps not. You lose, Marik."

Marik gave a great shudder and suddenly bent over double; when he staggered upright Ryuuji could see that a great chunk of his side was missing.

"The shadows are reclaiming what they are owed," he rasped. "I swore by them, after all. Stupid, really."

Ryuuji took a few steps towards him and bent down so that they were at eye level. "Like I said, I never thought you were stupid. I just outplayed you."

"It was luck!" Marik forced out through gritted teeth.

His green eyes flashed, and he raised the dice to Marik's face. "No, Marik. They're weighted dice." He tossed them on the ground again: _six and six_. "I cheated. There was nothing in the rules about a punishment for cheating."

Marik chuckled darkly. "How… did you… manage that?"

Ryuuji smirked. "You're forgetting that this is _my mind_. I just reclaimed control from you- and although I didn't know how at first, you obligingly showed me when you insisted on creating the dice yourself."

Marik clawed at the ground with fingers that were slowly disappearing. "You are so much stronger than I thought. We could have… We could have been so great," he gasped for breath. "Ryuuji Otogi and… And I."

Ryuuji leaned in and pressed cold lips to his fading face. "Yes. We could have been. But you underestimated me- I warned you about that, didn't I?"

He straightened up and backed away, watching as Marik's last features melted into blackness.

Taking a deep breath he stared up at the inky black sky and closed his eyes as his opponent's last screams died away.

* * *

Ryuuji awoke in his own bed, calm and refreshed. The dream from the previous night was already fading in his memory- what had it been about again?

Ah yes, he laughed self-consciously. Something about Battle City, of all things. What a strange thing to dream about all these years later.

Ryuuji swung his legs out of bed as the sun streamed through the window and the shadows in the corners of his room retreated for a time.

* * *

The creature lurking in the shadows would have laughed, or cried, or screamed, if it were able.

It was nearly completely unconscious; it wouldn't awake properly until another chance for its escape arose, and who knew when that would be.

It was a pity- it had thought humans were so predictable, so wrapped up in their own hatred and ambition that they would allow, even welcome, his invasion of their minds.

It appeared that Ryuuji Otogi was the exception to the rule.

The shadows enveloped the last dregs of Marik's mind, until only the ghost of his smirk remained.

* * *

Finis

* * *

I hope you liked! :D

A couple of notes to accompany the piece:

1. Ryuuji mentions being the tool of his father's revenge, which refers to the manga series where his father was basically raising him to exact revenge on Sugoroku Mouto. (Correct me if I'm wrong, manga fans? xD)

2. Marik is purposefully less mad than in the canon- as I tried to emphasise in the piece, he is heavily imitating Ryuuji's mannerisms and character. And Ryuuji isn't batsh*t crazy. Ergo, neither is Marik.

3. Ryuuji is about 18 in this piece

Well, thanks very much for reading! :D

Bookworm


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